


The Solstice Gift

by Sauronix



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Basically a Collection of Holiday Cliches, Decorating the Tree, Family Dinner, Gladio's Arts and Crafts, M/M, Romantic Gift-Giving, Solstice, Ugly Solstice Sweaters, holiday fic, kissing under the mistletoe, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 00:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17131769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix
Summary: Gladio opens the front door and finds Ignis standing on the step, a paper bag under one arm (probably the homemade eggnog he said he’d bring) and a basket of brightly-wrapped packages at his feet. His hair and the shoulders of his black pea coat are dusted with snow, his glasses fogged up and his cheeks pink from the cold. Even wind-tousled, he looks damn good. The sight of him makes Gladio’s heart skip a beat, like it always does.“Hello,” Ignis says in greeting, offering Gladio a brilliant smile. “Happy solstice.”Ignis spends the holidays with the Amicitia family, complete with decorating the tree, ugly solstice sweaters, gift-giving, and kissing under the mistletoe.





	The Solstice Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to Atropa! Thank you for all the help, advice, and beta-ing you've offered me this year. There were several projects I couldn't have finished without your encouragement, and I am immensely grateful for all your support. <3
> 
> Apparently I can't stop writing stories about Ignis giving Gladio love poetry and letters. Happy holidays, everyone!

The doorbell rings a little after two o’clock.  
  
“Gladdy!” Iris yells from the kitchen. “Can you get it? I have my hand up the cockatrice’s butt!”  
  
Chuckling, Gladio pulls the chain screen closed across the fireplace and places the poker back in its stand. After fifteen minutes of fighting with the damper and hauling in logs from the backyard, he finally has a modest fire crackling on the hearth. It’ll probably take a while to really get going, but at least it’s giving off a bit of warmth, and it suffuses the room with a cozy glow that contrasts with the snow steadily falling outside.  
  
Satisfied, he brushes his sooty hands on his jeans as he gets to his feet. The doorbell rings again.  
  
“ _Gladdy_!” Iris hollers.  
  
“Keep your shorts on,” he shouts back as he pads into the hall. “I’m getting it.”  
  
Gladio opens the front door and finds Ignis standing on the step, a paper bag under one arm (probably the homemade eggnog he said he’d bring) and a basket of brightly-wrapped packages at his feet. His hair and the shoulders of his black pea coat are dusted with snow, his glasses fogged up and his cheeks pink from the cold. Even wind-tousled, he looks damn good. The sight of him makes Gladio’s heart skip a beat, like it always does.  
  
“Hello,” Ignis says in greeting, offering Gladio a brilliant smile. “Happy solstice.”  
  
Gladio grins in return. “Happy solstice.” He bends to pick up the basket, then steps back, out of the way, so Ignis can enter the house. “Come on in.”  
  
“Many thanks,” Ignis says, setting the paper bag on the side table with a light thunk. He slips his feet out of his shoes and unwinds the scarf around his neck, hanging it on the coat stand just inside the door. “It’s rather brisk out there.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I was in the backyard chopping wood earlier. How was the drive?”  
  
Ignis shrugs out his coat and hangs it up as well. He’s wearing an open grey cardigan and a white dress shirt underneath, the top two buttons popped to show the pale hollow of his throat, where the skull of his necklace rests. “Quite all right. There wasn’t a great deal of traffic. I imagine most people are staying in to prepare for the holiday.”  
  
“Just like us.”  
  
Ignis smiles at him again, opening his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say is lost when Iris comes bounding out of the kitchen, skidding on the hardwood to grab Ignis around the waist in a hug. He laughs and returns the gesture, and despite himself, Gladio can’t help a pang of jealousy. Ignis hasn’t embraced him like that in years—not since they were kids, anyway. They’re close enough that Ignis has spent every solstice for the past thirteen years at the Amicitia manor, but when it comes time to say their goodbyes, they always do that awkward dance where they shake each other’s hands and pretend they don’t want to hug.  
  
“I’m so glad you’re here!” Iris says, looking up at Ignis with huge, hopeful eyes. “Are you going to help us decorate the tree?”  
  
“Certainly, if you’ll give me a moment to bring the eggnog to Jared?” he says, gesturing to the paper bag.  
  
“Gladdy can do that.”  
  
“Now hold on a sec. That cockatrice in the oven yet?” Gladio asks.  
  
“Yes, Gladdy,” Iris says, exasperated, grabbing Ignis’s hand and pulling him along. “It's stuffed and everything. Jared’s putting it in right now.”  
  
Fair enough. Shrugging, Gladio grabs the paper bag and carries it to the kitchen, where Jared is peeling potatoes at the island, wearing a festive red apron with a snowman on it.  
  
“Hey, Jared, Iggy brought some nog,” Gladio says as he sets the paper bag down on the counter, glancing inside to find a glass pitcher full of the stuff, and a bottle of bourbon. He pulls it out to read the label—Horn of the Mesmenir, his favourite. Leave it to Ignis to keep track of something like that. “Want some?”  
  
“Thank you, but no, Master Gladio,” Jared says, wiping his hands on his apron. “Though I can prepare a glass for you, if you’d like?”  
  
Gladio waves him off. “Nah, don’t worry. I’ve got it.”  
  
Grabbing three glasses from the cupboard, he mixes two boozy drinks for himself and Ignis, and pours an alcohol-free one for Iris. Then he pads down the hall and into the sitting room, where the fire’s still crackling on the hearth, and a massive fir tree towers in the corner, its branches naked, waiting to be ornamented. Gladio and his dad cut it down and hauled it in the other day, working together to wrestle it through the house and into its stand. _A job well done, son_ , his dad said at the time, clapping Gladio on the shoulder before retreating to his study for a teleconference with the king, a glass of whiskey in his hand.  
  
He’s supposed to be home for dinner tonight—he’s never missed a solstice with his kids since their mom died—but he’s still at the Citadel, in meetings with the king. Gladio figures he’ll be home within the next hour, just in time to put up his feet and enjoy a glass of bourbon before the food is ready.  
  
He sets the glasses on the coffee table and turns to Ignis and Iris. They’re digging through the boxes of decorations Jared brought up from the basement, untangling strings of lights and silver garlands. Ignis has one strung around his neck, the tinsel glinting when he moves. Gladio watches him work for a second, his lips curving into a smile, until Ignis glances up and catches him looking.  
  
Then he coughs and sits on the arm of the couch, sipping his drink to hide his embarrassment. “You guys look like you’ve got everything under control,” he says.  
  
“We could still use the help,” Ignis admonishes. He holds out the tangle of lights he’s holding. “If you’d be so good as to get this sorted?”  
  
Gladio takes it, a little thrill going through him when their fingers brush together. Their eyes meet again, and Ignis returns his smile, a softness in his expression that Gladio can’t exactly pin down. Gladio’s loved him for a long time, and sometimes, he can’t help wondering if Ignis feels the same, or if it’s just wishful thinking that convinces him Ignis looks at him any differently than he does Iris or Noct.  
  
And like always, it only last for a couple of seconds. Before Gladio can wonder any more, Ignis turns back to the boxes, bending to open one labeled ORNAMENTS. Sighing quietly, Gladio gets to work on the lights.  
  
“Hey, Gladdy, check this out!” Iris says, holding up an ornament Gladio made when he was six years old. It’s a faded square of red construction paper with an old photo of himself taped to it. Iris reads out the words written on it in glitter. “ _Happy solstice, Mom and Dad_. Awww. You spelled ‘solstice’ wrong.”  
  
Ignis takes the ornament and examines it. “So you did. _S-O-L-S-T-I-S-S_.”  
  
“Like you were any better at spelling when you were six,” Gladio shoots back.  
  
“I was,” Ignis says, and hangs the ornament on the tree.  
  
They spend the next hour decorating the tree, helping each other wind the lights around it, then the garlands, before getting to the ornaments. There are multi-coloured baubles, and glass snowflakes, and pinecones sparkling with a dusting of glitter. There are softly-feathered birds and tiny spiracorns with multicoloured lights tangled in their horns. A few of the ornaments are broken. Gladio picks the shards out of the box so Iris won’t hurt herself, setting them aside on a paper towel to throw out later.  
  
Then there are the sentimental decorations—a sleeping baby in a basket with Iris’s name on it, a picture of the entire family in a wreath-shaped frame, a miniature sword Clarus gave Gladio when he was accepted into the Crownsguard. Ignis finds another ornament Gladio made when he was a kid, this one with an apostrophe in the name _Amicitias_ , and he and Iris have a good laugh over that while Gladio grumbles into his eggnog.  
  
They’re just finishing up when the front door opens and his dad walks in, stamping his feet on the mat in the hall.  
  
“Daddy!” Iris says, jumping up to go to him.  
  
“Happy solstice, sweetheart,” he says, enfolding her in a hug. He looks up as Gladio and Ignis follow her. “Ah, Ignis! I’m glad you could join us tonight.”  
  
“As always, I appreciate the invitation, sir,” Ignis says. “It would have been a lonely solstice otherwise.”  
  
Gladio resists placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Ignis’s parents are long dead, and despite raising him, Ignis’s uncle has always been pretty distant, seeing his nephew as more of an obligation than anything. The solstice was never a big deal in their household, which is why Ignis has always spent it with the Amicitia family. And Gladio wouldn’t have it any other way. It wouldn’t feel like the holidays if he couldn’t look across the table and see Ignis sitting there, relaxed and laughing over a glass of wine.  
  
“You’re always welcome here,” his dad says, tossing his leather gloves on the side table as he sniffs at the air. “Mmm. Dinner smells delicious. Give me five minutes to change into something more comfortable, and then we can get started?”  
  
“Okay, but no ugly solstice sweaters, Daddy, _please_ ,” Iris says. “The one you wore last year was horrible.”  
  
“I rather liked it,” Ignis says cheerfully. “The lights on the snowmen were a nice touch.”  
  
“Ugh! Sweaters aren’t supposed to light up, Iggy!” Iris throws her hands in the air in disgust. “Come on, Daddy. I’ll help you pick something decent to wear.”  
  
She leads the way up the stairs. Dad looks at them with a shrug and a helpless smile before trailing after her, draping his coat over the railing as he goes, leaving them alone together. There’s a brief, tense silence before Ignis clears his throat.  
  
“I have a gift for you,” he says stiffly.  
  
Gladio glances at the basket on the floor just inside the sitting room. “Looks like you brought presents for all of us.”  
  
“Yes, of course, but I wanted to give this one to you privately,” Ignis says. “I suppose this is as good a time as any.”  
  
He goes to the basket and pulls out a small, slim package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red bow. Gladio can’t help noticing that Ignis won’t meet his eyes as he passes it over, almost shoving it into Gladio’s hands, like he’s trying to get rid of it before he has second thoughts. It makes Gladio’s stomach flutter. They’ve known each other forever. They’ve spent every solstice together since they were kids. So why would Ignis be nervous about giving him a gift? Unless…  
  
Slipping his finger under the taped edge of the package, he tears the paper open to reveal a black leather-bound journal. There’s a small white card tucked under the closure strap. Gladio pulls it out and opens it. _Happy solstice, Gladio_ , it reads in Ignis’s neat handwriting. _I hope this gift can put into words some of the feelings I have long held for you. Adoringly, Ignis._  
  
Oh, shit. Heart pounding, Gladio opens the journal to the first page. The thick, cream-coloured sheet is covered in more of Ignis’s handwriting, the text separated into four sets of five lines. He recognizes them right away as stanzas. It’s a poem.  
  
A love poem.  
  
“Iggy…” he says, glancing up to find Ignis still avoiding his eyes, his cheeks blazing red. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to give Gladio a gift like this. “I…don’t know what to say.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ignis says, folding his arms over his chest defensively. “I don’t expect anything from you. If you tell me you don’t feel the same, I’ll never breathe a word of this again.”  
  
Gladio feels dizzy, like he’s floating on clouds. He looks down at the journal again, flipping through the pages to find more poems. “Did you write all these for me?”  
  
“Did I author them, you mean?” Ignis laughs nervously. “I wish I could say I possessed such talent with the written word, but no. They’re sonnets by the Forbidden Poets.”  
  
The name sounds familiar. “The ones the Pious had banned like two hundred years ago ‘cause he thought they were obscene?”  
  
“Yes. They never went back into print, so I took the liberty of searching for them on Eosweb and writing them out by hand,” Ignis says. He sounds a little more confident now that they’re talking about facts instead of Gladio’s feelings. “I wanted you to have something no one else has.”  
  
“Thank you,” Gladio says breathlessly. He skims the poem on the fifth page, his face heating when he realizes it’s an erotic verse. Does Ignis seriously want to do this stuff with him? Gladio hopes so. Gods, does he ever. “I, uh…I don’t have anything this nice for you. I picked up some fountain pens and a calendar with pictures of fancy cakes for your office.”  
  
Ignis laughs, and the sound of it breaks up some of the tension between them. “Well, at least those are thoughtful in their practicality.”  
  
“Yeah.” Gladio licks his lips, realizing he hasn’t given Ignis an answer yet. Tentatively, he holds out his hand. “Listen…wanna step outside with me for a sec?”  
  
Ignis looks at his hand, hesitating, but when a door closes upstairs and Iris and his dad’s voices fill the hallway, he finally takes it, the warmth of his skin traveling like an electric shock through Gladio’s body. They both slip into their boots, and Gladio holds the door open, letting Ignis out onto the front step. It ain’t exactly frigid outside, but there’s a bit of a nip to the air, and Ignis crosses his arms again, huddling as his breath comes out in white puffs. Gladio plucks a sprig of mistletoe from the wreath hanging on the door before he turns to Ignis.  
  
“Figured we could partake in another solstice tradition,” he says, awkwardly holding the mistletoe above their heads. “I mean, if you’re cool with it. I hope you are. I, uh…” He scratches his head, laughing sheepishly. “I like you a lot, y’know?”  
  
Ignis huffs a disbelieving laugh of his own. “I’m rather more than ‘cool with it’, Gladio, if the book of love poems I just gave you wasn’t evidence enough.”  
  
Gladio nods, his eyes dropping to Ignis’s lips. They’re so full and perfect, and they look so soft. He’s thought about how they would taste a thousand times, but now he’s nervous, his pulse racing in his throat. He’s spared having to make the first move when Ignis’s hands take him by the waist, bringing them closer together, allowing them to share each other’s body heat. Before he can think about what he’s doing, Gladio puts his arms around Ignis in return, their noses nudging as Ignis leans in, standing on the tips of his toes to reach Gladio’s mouth.  
  
And then they’re kissing, sweet and chaste. Ignis’s hand comes up to cup his face, his thumb stroking over Gladio’s cheekbone. There’s no tongue, but Gladio’s never felt so hot from kissing anyone, and he thinks he might burst from the simple pleasure of holding Ignis. He’s breathless by the end of it, already longing for more. He leans in for another, but Ignis’s fingertips on his lips stop him.  
  
“Perhaps we should go back inside before your sister comes looking for us,” he murmurs.  
  
Still hungry, Gladio kisses the pads of his fingers before Ignis draws them away, too. “Fine. But maybe after she goes to bed, we can have some alone time by the fire…?”  
  
“A roaring fire, a glass of whiskey, and a handsome man in my arms.” Ignis smiles up at him fondly, lacing his fingers behind Gladio’s back. “That would make for a very happy solstice indeed.”


End file.
